


Foxwolf's Innistrad Short Stories

by The_Foxwolf



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Gen, Innistrad, Short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-19 10:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8201045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Foxwolf/pseuds/The_Foxwolf
Summary: I am the GM of a Table-Top Role Playing Game. My players have asked me to give them short stories so they can further learn about the world. My world takes place on Innistrad, a gothic horror based world. Innistrad is property of Wizards of the Coast. I lay no claim to the world. Some characters in this story may be characters introduced through flavor text on the Magic Cards on which this short story is inspired. Most of the Characters in this story are unique and original, but I won't promise that all of them are. In those instances in which I do not, I lay no claim to them or Wizard's property.





	1. Yanning's Journal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the journal of a outlander, someone just arriving to the shores of Nephalia. His name is Yanning and this is the story of him and his earliest experiences, and final experiences, of the main continent of Innistrad. He is new to the land and few of the monsters are known to him and even fewer of the angels. This is his story. He'll encounter some recurring characters, as this is part of a series. Not a chronological series, but they're all connected for sure.
> 
> Keep in mind that this is a journal. If the grammar seems weird, roll with it. Yanning guy is new to the language. It clears up over time, as would make sense.

January 28th, Port of Selhoff, Nephalia

The ocean was scary. I thought that by the time I arrived at the Bay of Vustrow I would be done with the ugliness of the ocean. I was not right. There is distant moaning and wailing, stealing my sleep from me. They tell me it is the Nebelgast. Back in my homeland the Nebelgast was not as strong. I knew it was ugly, I did not know how much. How can these sailors ride the waves on their ships here? How can they sleep? It is as if their hearts have hardened to the sound of suffering. 

The trip was expensive. Selling the ranch and cows gave more money than my uncle and auntie ever had made in their life. But I only have not so much. I have to find a new home. I have been told by the innkeeper that Kessig is where most of the food farming and herding takes place. One of the merchants I spoke to as I bought my coat told me Stensia was the land of sheep and dairy and cotton and tobacco, among other things for not eating. It is cold in this place. Nephalia, the land where money flows like milk. Everyone is so smart here. There is a university for them. This is a place of learning. I am good with the pencil to make art but I never could be let in. This I know. The merchants are cunning. Stealing the bread from your hand for a penny, as my uncle would say. Their tongues are silver. How can one man live this way?

I feel my accent is strong. I am told Nephalia has the most accents for the people are different here. But I am beyond the fence here. I am a stranger in a strange land. But my uncle always told me to take pride in my heritage. So I will keep my beard kept and my hair long. I am Yanning Ravid. The world must know.

 

January 28th, Selhoff, Nephalia

These people traffic in silver and coin always. Unmarked boxes are smuggled between shady businessmen. These are good people, I think. But everyone has a shadow, my auntie would warn me. I am not clever like they are. Maybe is best I leave this land for Stensia or Kessig. I fear that if among coyotes I sleep that learn to howl I will. I do not want to be shady.

The people here worship a woman. An angel. Avacyn is her name. I have not heard of this Avacyn. In my homeland I had heard of a new church. Uncle mentioned that it had landed near the shores of the mountains. I think maybe this is it. 

The churches here are extravagant. The stained glass windows depict her as a marvelous woman with wings wider than she is long. She is beautiful. She holds a spear of silver and she looks confident and powerful. I can see why these people worship her. I know nothing of her myself, but perhaps I will learn.

 

January 29th, Selhoff Nephalia

I am having trouble deciding where to begin my life. Stensia is a mountainous place, much like my home. Maybe there is good choice. I think I will look for a merchant headed that way.

The food here is much different. It is more bland. At my home it is more rich in flavor, but much less in variety. Here they have fish and cow and pork and bird and some tentacle thing I have not tried. Such a variety of flavors here, though each less strong than my home food.

Nephalia so cold. The people here do not speak of ill things. But I look with my eyes and I see cut-purses and cut-throats in all corners. But this place is so beautiful in its own way. The streets are clean and made of smooth stone. The buildings are tall and proud. The people they all wear good clothes and everywhere I see smiling faces. The bells of the church make me breath easy. I can hear their choirs praise their angel and their people pray for the Blessed Sleep. Somehow, wealth, happiness, crime, and cruelty all live together here. It has a certain charm to it. 

Children play in the streets. Carriages move over the cobbled stone all the time. My home we cannot do that. Undead and wolves will hunt us if we are not protected. Our settlements are small and without walls. The buildings are much more small and less proud. Werewolves can break down the doors and the walls. But not here. Here there are soldiers and church peoples.

Maybe Nephalia is not so bad a place. It cannot be my new home. But it is not so bad.

 

February 1st , Selhoff, Nephalia

Today I saw a monster like nothing in my nightmares. A creature made of metal plates and three arms that were not its own. It look like a child take body parts of what they see and cobble them together with metal plates. How such a creature can be is beyond me. What a monster. It moved with an intelligence that make me think it was thinking. Soldiers from the church, Cathars, their name, fought the monster. It was as if the monster felt no pain. It roared and fought with the strength of five oxen at least. One Cathar drove a spear into the monster’s side and the monster snapped it like a twig. With one swing of the arm the monster broke the cathar neck. Two more cathars attacked the monster with axes and chopped off the arm that was on the middle of the chest. The monster roared and kept fighting, not even knowing it was gone an arm. It reached for a cathar but another put his axe into the monster’s head of one the heads. Brains spilled on the ground from the monster’s head, but the monster knew nothing of it. It grabbed the cathar and crushed his head into a messy paste of brains and bone. Three Cathars attacked it from behind, driving their axes into its back, hacking at the places where the different body parts met each other. After a tense moment, they finally break the monster into the separate parts of the body parts it was made of.

I did not see where the monster come from. “Skaab” they called it. A monster made of science and necromancy created in a laboratory by mad scientists. These monsters are new to me. Such science is not from my home. But there are learned people here with time and money to spend on such evils. I am told that Skaabs are not common but that they are not uncommon either. Sometimes they say that the Skaabs break free from their scientist’s lab and attack out of confusion. I do not understand this. How can a monster be confused? It must be intelligent first to be confused. How much intelligence can one monster have?

February 2nd, Selhoff, Nephalia

They arrested a man today. The Cathars find a man they call a Skaaberen. This the name of the scientist who make Skaabs. The Cathars say this man not the one who made the skaab yesterday but made many others. How can man be so cruel to make monsters like this?

 

February 2nd, Selhoff, Nephalia  
A funeral was held today for the Cathar. I did not see it. I was speaking to merchants by the port about a travel to Stensia. The merchant I spoke with was a bloodsucker. But he moved and spoke like a man. Many times I know that the bloodsuckers use Glammer to make them look like humans. That magic is not for me. I can see through it. I know this because the bloodsucker smiled at me when I saw him. I was afraid of course, but the bloodsucker did not attack. He offered business as normal. After some talk with him I learn his is of Stromkirk family. In my home there are bloodsuckers, but they are savage and feral. There is no speaking with those. The Stromkirk bloodsucker asked me to call his kind vampires. I know not this word, but if this bloodsucker was intelligent and able to reason then maybe I should listen to what he says.

 

February 3rd , Selhoff, Nephalia  
A new Skaab appeared. This one much huger than the last. With the strength of twenty oxen, this one was breaking walls and carriages like straw. This one stood more than two of my size. It had more arms than I have fingers. It was a monster bigger and stronger than any werewolf I had ever looked. Every hand was the head of man, was the head of a man. By the time I looked out the window three already lay dead, their bodies bent in ways they could not be. As I watch four more die. One become puddles of blood and intestines, one was thrown through a wall like a doll, another was thrown into the air and was not seen again, and the last his her head bitten off by one of the mouths. When I thought the Cathars could not be in more danger two more of the same skaab appeared. One of them carried a crazed man laughing hysterically. Three of these monsters.

The Cathars looked like they could not defeat it.

That was when I saw her. Brilliant like the sun but beautiful as the moon. I almost wept when I looked. I know now why these people worship her. In my breast I felt a whirlwind of joy. There cannot be a more perfect being than her.

On her silver spear she struck one of the Skaabs, like lightning. The Skaab breaked into the parts that made it whole. The Cathars cheered, rallied by the image of the angel before me. They attacked the Skaab with the Skaaberen as one, their blows stronger and more sure than ever. Once again, like lightning, the angel came from the sky. But she did not hit the monster with her spear. No, she made a white light that burned the creature like brush in a fire. Only ash and metal plates remained when she was done. The Cathars had breaked the other Skaab now and were putting silver manacles on the Skaaberen. 

Without so much as a word the angel was gone. Off I think to answer another prayer somewhere else in this world. Maybe. Maybe I too should pray. For her. To her. Maybe I have been missing this all my life. I wish my uncle and my auntie could see her. They would weep with joy. We never had such hope in my home. But if this hope, this whirlwind in the breast, is what worship brings then I too must offer up my prayers. 

 

February 4th , Selhoff, Nephalia  
I am decided that I will go to Stensia. I find a merchant who has caravan going to Silberg. I will go with them on the morrow.

Today I had a Cathar come to my door. Not a cathar I know now. An Inquisitor. This woman was looking for a law breaker who had stolen some goods from a merchant. She say the lawbreaker was stealing during the funeral the other day. I told her I was talking with the Stromkirk vampire by the docks. I give her my name and the name of the vampire. She goes to him now to speak with him and ask if he knows about the lawbreaker. 

This church is good. Cathars protect the streets from monsters and lawbreakers. Inquisitors make talk and look for clues for lawbreakers to bring them to justice. For all the evil in this land the church is good. 

 

February 5th, Selfhoff Nephalia

The sun is rising and I am making ready to leave. My new life is about to begin and my excitement is great. I am Yanning Ravid. I will be the greatest sheep herder in Stensia.

 

February 5th, East of Selhoff Nephalia

The merchant is a cruel man. I work with him to pay for the trip. He has me watching the boxes always watching. He tells me there is things in there that are worth more than my head, I know he is like the frog- make big for show but I know he is only looking for his client. I am tired. The Nebelgast is different now. I no longer hear the moaning and wailing as I used to. We make camp by the road with the beautiful ocean in plain sight. This land is good. 

 

February 6th, East of Selhoff Nephalia

We lost one man last night. The Nebelgast took him. The merchant is very quiet. I know he is scared. He shakes like the trees in the wind.

 

I heard him screaming. He was afraid. He knew he was going to join the Nebelgast in its moaning and wailing. I would have killed him before the tides took him but I was not faster than the tide. The merchant made many promises to the rest of his workers that we will not sleep by the shore again.

 

February 7th , Near the Morkrut

The merchant tell me he checked his maps and is running late to Stensia and is considering going through the Morkrut to get there faster. The other workers protest saying the merchant must be mad. I do not know of the Morkrut and am afraid to ask. This land has many things I can draw with my pencils and the merchant is kind enough to have me paper. I do not know if the Morkrut is an evil place, but the merchant will not lead us to danger. He already lost one man. He will not lost another. We cross the River Ospid now. I hope my journal remains dry.

 

February 8th, The Morkrut

Already we are lost. There is nothing but swampy ground here with rotting tree trunks and many roots. The few roads here are little more than dried mud. Dark mists rise from the swamp all around us, surrounding us in a fog. Already we had to stop and rescue one of our workers from the mud beside the road. He fell in almost to his nose. We get to him just in time. I am thinking this merchant made a mistake.

 

February 8th, the Morkrut  
A banshee attacked us earlier today. Her screams were powerful. My ears bleed before I stuff them with cotton. It is not enough but enough to save me. The merchant fell from the carriage while screaming. Blood fell from his ears and his eyes and his nose.

Me and the workers ran. There are four of us now. We do not know what become of the merchant and we do not want to know. The Morkrut is a dark place of evil spirits. I only want to leave this place now.

 

February 9th, the Morkrut  
I think today is a new day. But I do not know. The sun does not rise in the Morkrut. Only the rise of the moon and the change of phase tells me the day. One of the workers is seeing spirits everywhere but I do not see them. The other two workers tell me that the Morkrut is calling to him, to make him its own. They are talking about leaving the man to his fate. I do not want anyone here to be alone. I think the roots of the trees themselves will rise to fell me were I alone.

 

February 10th, the Morkrut  
When we awaken this morning he was gone. No man see him gone. I do not know where he is but it is better this way. Better to give the Morkrut what it wants than to have it follow us. One of the workers says to me that he thinks we are almost to Stensia. I have my doubts but I do not know this land as he does.

 

February 10th, the Morkrut

We find a house here. On solid and dry ground. The paint is purple on the wooden walls outside and a darker purple on the pillars and edging. It would be ugly to some but to me it is beautiful. If only to spend one night here in safety would be grand. Solid ground. A bed. Roof over our heads. A door between us and the ever present mists of the Morkrut. There is no one here and it look like no one be here. The three of us will sleep here tonight.

 

February 11th, the Morkrut

We awake this morning to the smell of bacon and scrambled eggs. There was two women here. They were dressed in fine clothes and wear a smile. They served me breakfast before ask who they were. The other two workers ate, having fed only on bread for two days. I too ate. The bacon looked delicious.

I finally asked who they were and they told us they were the Stevon Sisters. I asked what they were doing here and they told me that the Morkrut had people living like in other places. They said that there were many other homesteads like this. One of the other workers asked the sisters how they made a living. They collect rare herbs and plants in the Morkrut and sell them to Selhoff. I do not trust the sisters but I have been taught that hospitality is a two horned bull.

 

February 12th, the Morkrut

The sisters are such charming young women. Very charismatic and flirtatious. My fellow workers are all but enthralled to them now. I tell them that we have to leave now to Stensia but they tell me they do not have to go like I do. The sisters have fed us good and warm food and have had great hospitality. But I do not trust the sisters. People who can live in a place as dark as this must be more powerful than the swamp itself.

 

February 13th, the Morkrut

I did not fall asleep like the others did. I did not trust the sisters and feared for my life. But it was not the sisters I should have been worried about. One of my fellow workers tried to force himself on one of the sisters as she slept. I awoke and prepared to pull him off her but I was too late. The sister he had tried to force himself on had cast a spell that turned the man’s flesh into rot. The man was dead before I could draw breath. It was a sight more horrible than any sickness I have seen. I emptied my stomach outside for many minutes as I tried to keep myself from fleeing into the swamp.

The sisters told us they were witches who had been run out of Drunau and then out of Selhoff for their magic. They were good people they said. But I am filled with shame that our hospitality was poor. I begged the sisters forgiveness for my companion and asked they grant us leave. 

They said they would let us go in the morning. Once again they gave up food and gave us to carry with us through the Morkrut. I think now they are good people. And my suspicions were misguided.

We left with warm bellies and food in our packs. I did not think the Morkrut could be home to such kind people. I see now that darkness lives in us all. And that we all live in darkness. That people will not forgive those that are different and that those who are different will not apologize. The spark of human light burns brightest in the dark, my auntie would always say.

 

February 16th, the Morkrut

I am alone now in the Morkrut. Undead attacked us on our journey. From all directions they rose from the swamps and pursued us. Each of them had a hole where their heart. I thought my life would end there. I was wrong. The Ghoulcallers of the undead called their monsters off once the undead had captured us. One man and one woman dressed in black robes with gold embroidering came to us. The man waved a ball on a chain. Smoke rose from the ball. I feel asleep in the arms of the undead then. 

When I awoke I was in a cave. Everywhere there were candles. Along the walls were more people wearing the same clothes as the man and the woman. I found myself wearing manacles and a metal collar around my neck with the chain at the floor. I could not rise from my position or move my arms. In horror I saw my last companion laid on a table. His arms and legs with chained to the floor of the cave. The woman who had captured us was chanting in a language I had never heard before. She then drove her knife into my companion’s chest. For many moments he screamed. At last the screaming stopped when the woman reached and removed my companion’s heart. It still pumped as she held it.

Black fire rose from the candles and rose and met at the pumping heart. Like a leech, the black fire took the life from the heart and left it a pile of ash. 

I knew my fate would be the same soon. They moved me with my chains to the table. I cried many tears until they gagged me with their cloth. I found myself praying to Avacyn. For salvation.

Praise her. Praise the Archangel.

My rescuers came in the form of two Inquisitors a priest and the Stevon Sisters. The Stevon Sisters arrived hurling balls of death magic at the cultists. He wore a symbol of silver on his chest. 

It shone as bright as the moon, and the cultists fled from the light. The two Inquisitors struck down many of the cultists as they ran. The rest were slain by the Stevon Sisters.

The joy I felt in my heart as the Inquisitors liberated me from the sacrificial table was greater than the mountains of my home land. I cried many tears of joy without shame.

When I asked how they knew they simply said they did not. The Inquisitors had been hunting down this cult for some time now they said. It seems that the Inquisitors were regular guests at the Stevon Sisters’ home. The Sisters mentioned us and our direction. The Inquisitors followed after us to help guide us out of the swamp. They saw the undead surround us and the cultists take us. They returned to the sisters to ask for help. They came as swiftly as they could. It was good. I do not think the Inquisitors and the priest alone could have defeated the cult.

We returned to the Stevon Sister’s house to rest. Tomorrow the Inquisitors are to return to Selhoff to report their success. I will join them. I am sick of this place. I wish I had a home to return to.

 

February 23th, Selhoff, Nephalia

I am at the chapel in Selhoff now. A warm cup of milk in my hands, covers on my back, and the songs of the choir in my ears. This is home. Right here. Not Selfhoff. Not this chapel. But this is my home. The Church of Avacyn. What joy it brings to my heart to be here.

I will be off to Lambholt soon. I am told that the church has a strong presence there. My own home with a church waiting for me with open arms.

 

February 24th, Selhoff, Nephalia

The Cathars have given me a pack full of supplies, a walking staff, a collar, an axe, and a monk’s robes to carry me on my journey. There are well established roads leading to Trostad. Once at Trostad I am to cross something called the Bower Passage which will bring me close to Lambholt, my new home. My name is Yanning Ravid and my life is ready to begin. They tell me I may travel as a monk and sleep in the chapels. What kindness the people of this church have showed me.

 

February 26th, Hamburg, Gavony

I have arrived safely to Hamburg. The roads were safe. There are Roadwatchers every so often here. They tell me they are a branch of the Parish-blades, whatever that mean. The moorlands are not pretty. Mostly rock and hill. But the Roadwatchers tell me of Kessig. Trees as far as the eye can see and green leaves at all times of the year. I have never seen nearly that many trees except for in the mountains and the foothills. But a flat land with all trees sounds like a dream. Lambholt will be everything I have ever wanted and more.

 

March 5th, Braudenburg, Gavony

These roads are much more heavily traveled. Merchants, carriages, travelers, family members, adventurers, farmers, everyone walks these roads. I am told that the “traffic” is light. But to me, I have never seen such a populous road. The Roadwatchers tell me that I must visit Thraben. I think I should. If only to see the many Angels of Alabaster or even Avacyn herself once more. This is a good land with many opportunities. 

 

March 7th, Trostad, Gavony 

I am at Trostad now. I need to get my weapon and collar shined. I want to start my new life with a clean set of tools. The girl at the reception desk is attractive. I hear myself talk and I think my accent is beginning to fade. My writing is bettering. I am so ready to begin anew. 

 

March 8th, Trostad, Gavony

I met with an interesting man today. Scar across his left eye where he was blind. Shaven head. Powerfully built. We shared a meal together and spoke about our lives. The man has been through much. Falsely accused by the church for heresy and terrorism. The man has been running many years now. We spoke about how he faced a skaab in southern Gavony on his own and killed it little more than a torch and some cooking oil. He spoke about how he wrestled a bear into submission in Celtberg with his own hands. He talked about his journeys across the Geir Reach and the Ulvenwald. Whoever this man is, he is impressive. I would be hard pressed to meet his match. 

I found myself overjoyed when I found out he too had braved the Morkrut. He did not speak of the Stevon Sisters. He did say he had met several other homesteads of alchemy ingredient gatherers. It seems this man has spent many years there. He never said he had his own homestead there, but he implied he had a stationary position there. 

I told him of my homeland. Of the mountains. Of the ghoul-winds. Of the fire pits. Of the wide plains of wheat. He seemed interested in them in particular. I too spent much of my youth learning of them so I had much to say.

I told him of how I had found Avacyn and how I was ready to give my life to her. He nodded respectfully. He did not strike me as the Avacynian faithful type. But he was a respectable man. A good man. We knew nothing of each other and yet he offered me excellent conversation. I regret not having more time with him. He said something about have business to attend to somewhere to the east. I nodded and told him I had to leave for Lambholt soon. He grinned broadly and said: “Maybe I’ll see you around then.” I would be pleased to make friends with him. I regret not catching his name. I will pack up my things and get ready to leave soon.

 

March 8th , Trostad, Gavony

As I checked out of the monk bunk I met an extraordinary man. His flesh was a deep brown, unlike anything I have ever seen. I come from a place much warmer than this land and my skin is darker than most here. But no where near as dark as this man. Forgive my handwriting. I am just so excited that I had to write while walking.

He called himself Shadoom. He was a fast talker. He talked and talked about the church, the chapel, the cute girl at the reception desk, the stoic Cathars in the chapel, on and on. In my homeland we are taught to hold our tongue until another is done talking. He taked extensively about the Thraben Cathedral. He certainly had my attention then. He made it sound so wonderful. I must go sometime. Once I have some ranch hands to watch my land and cattle as I make my pilgrimage there.

Then he asked if I had at least been to Westvale Abbey now that I was in Trostad. I told him I hadn’t. He offered me a deal. He would give me directions to Westvale Abbey in exchange for something so simple. All he asked was to have me shake the priest’s hand and tell him Shadoom had sent me. That they would take care of me after that. Such joy! What a good man. A curious man, but a charming one. I know it is late, but the cathedral is close by. I should make it there by nightfall. 

Tomorrow will be a new dawn for me, a new beginning. It is getting dark now and I should stop writing. Look! I can see the silhouette of Westvale Abbey in the dying light.


	2. Avacynian Teachings and Prayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As part of my Innistrad Table-Top Campaign, I created a few prayers and teachings for them to better get to know the Church of Avacyn.
> 
> The first prayer in this upload is from flavor text off an actual card. The rest I came up with myself.

“We pray to Avacyn on high  
On snow white wings, fearless you fly  
Keep safe our souls  
Keep safe our lives  
May angels watch us from the sky”

-A children’s prayer to Avacyn

“Sigharda, Sigharda, Heron’s Grace.  
We bow our heads, to you we pray.  
Up high you fly, to keep us safe.  
With wings spread wide and righteous faith  
you smite down evil in every place.  
Bless our fields that they may grow.  
Protect our loved ones and our homes.  
With heron scythe we pray you strike  
down the monsters of the night.  
Watch our flocks, our herds, and streams  
and grant us all the Blessed Sleep.  
We thank you for the bounty we reap.  
We thank you that in peace we sleep.  
Sigharda, Sigharda, Heron’s Grace.  
We bow our heads, to you we pray.”

-A prayer to Sigharda, Heron’s Grace 

“Bruna, Alabaster’s Light,  
we thank you deeply for your plight.  
To Blessed Sleep you take our souls,  
that we may pass and rise no more.  
When we lay down for the last time  
we pray that us your Flight shall find.  
No greater gift could you bestow  
and so our faith we strive to show.  
We thank the magic that guards the stones  
of town walls, our chapels, and our homes.  
You give us peace when our end is near  
that with your guidance we need not fear.  
Bruna, Alabaster’s Light,  
we thank you deeply for your plight.”

-A prayer to Bruna, the Light of Alabaster

   
“Gisela, Blade of Goldnight, here we pray  
that all the monsters you will slay.  
Lead the angels off to fight.  
Forever keep us in your sight.  
Righteous arm of Avacyn just  
to you we pray, in you we trust.  
When at night we lay to sleep  
we pray our lives you will keep.  
Let the sunrise mark a day  
where evil’s kept at bay.  
When for food we reap our fields  
Goldnight’s warmth we know we’ll feel.  
Gisela, Blade of Goldnight, here we pray  
that all the monsters you will slay.”

-A prayer to Gisela, the Blade of Goldnight

“We thank thee Avacyn for our lives  
we rest well with your love by our sides.  
We thank you for the fields we reap  
and for the water that we drink.  
We trust in you, to you we pray  
that evil forever will be stayed.  
We know you love us, hear our prayers.  
We thank that you are always there.  
In glorious light your fly above  
You protect us each with your love.  
With Gisela’s blade, and Bruna fair,  
and Sigharda’s grace, we know you’re there.  
You give strength to our walls and to our wards,  
your church will lead and guide us forevermore.  
We thank thee Avacyn for our lives  
we rest well with your love by our sides.”

-A prayer to Avacyn

“We thank the angels for this meal.  
May it nourish. May it heal.  
May they always bless our fields.”

-A prayer of gratitude before meals

 

 

1: “Always grant a helping hand.  
Respect another’s life and land.”

2: “Respect your family and your home.”  
From your duties, do not roam.”

3: “Give thanks to Avacyn as you pray.  
She should hear you every day”

4: “To be honest, kind, and just  
for followers faithful, is a must.”

5: “Forgive another when you’re wronged.  
There is no shame in taking long.”

6: “Work hard each and every day.  
Avacyn will help you on the way.”

7: “What’s not given you cannot take.  
Never spoil another’s fate.”

“If by these rules you live and love,  
if Avacyn’s faithful you prove to be,  
angels will guard you from up above,  
and you will find the Blessed Sleep.”

The Seven Tenants of the Church of Avacyn


	3. Journal of a Kessig Farmer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the story of Harold, a Kessig farmer. The man has recently experienced a tragic incident and is trying to learn how to live on his own, the value of family, and exactly what it was that happened that left him all alone.

January 20th 

There. It is done. Those memories are behind me. Everything I ever was and had been is buried deep. I start a new journal to signify the start of a new life. One without regret. Without pain. I am Harold Totchzka. This is the start of my new life.

 

January 21st 

Onions planted. These tough vegetables should grow well here. They are hardy and healthy. Won’t make a lot of coin off them but that’s fine.… I live by myself now and my needs are simple.

 

January 22nd 

It’s too damn quiet out here. I don’t know what I’m missing. Nothing has changed. The sun set long ago and the moon is high. So why in the name of Avacyn is the silence so oppressing? Damn wolves howling in the distance as usual. Owls out hunting. I don’t get it.

 

January 23rd

Cut my finger chopping turnips. How did Margie do it? She made it look so effortless. Here I am barely able to make myself a damn soup and she’d be making whole meals in the span it makes me to get one started!

 

January 24th 

All this food tastes like horseshit. I don’t know how to cook worth a damn. Cut myself chopping stuff. Burnt my hand taking the pot off the fire. Scalded my tongue, dropped my spoon, stubbed my tow, bumped by head. Damn living on my own is hard. My mother always warned me that a man was nothing without his woman. I laughed her off but I can see what she was talking about.

 

January 25th 

Looks like I’m charge of washing my own clothes. Didn’t think of that before. Shit. I don’t know how to do this…  
…  
…  
What have you done, Harold?

 

January 26th 

This fucking cold burns my hands almost as much as the soup pot did! Shit! Washing clothes was a lot harder than I thought. Then I went and hung my clothes outside like I remember she used to do last summer. Then my clothes go and freeze solid on me! Shit how am I supposed to do this?

 

January 27th

Had a brush with a family of raccoons today. Out chopping firewood and this damn pack of raccoons throws itself on me. How in the world would Avacyn let such savage creatures exist! I think I would have rather let unhallowed ghouls attack than to face those damn raccoons again.

Fucking had to go grab firewood somewhere else. My shirt’s all torn up from their grubby little paws and their nasty little claws. I don’t have a clue how to sew…or knit…whatever it was Margie called it when she did the thing with the needle and the string… or yarn…whatever it was that she used to fix my shirts.

 

January 28th

Found Pellam’s axe today out in the woods. I remember giving that to him when he was six. He couldn’t have been more proud. What a damn fool I was. Last time I spoke to him was when I scolded him for losing that thing. If I had known… I wouldn’t have said anything. I don’t know what I’d do. Fuck it. It doesn’t matter.

 

January 29th

Onions are doing well. Surprisingly well given the cold. Been trying to remember the hymns from the church but I can’t shake them from my memory. Just as well. That’s a life I left behind me.

 

February 1st

Damn it! Snow is rare enough in Kessig during the winter, so why now? I needed these onions to make it to harvest. I have enough coin saved up to survive one failed crop but I need something to keep my mind off things. Blast it!

 

February 2nd 

Snows stopped but it’s freezing out here. The water pump is frozen solid and I’m having to melt snow to have something to drink and cook with. Fuck, this is harder than I thought… 

 

February 9th 

Freezing my toes off. Can barely write. I’m bundled up with all the blankets I could find. The storm outside has gotten so bad I can’t leave the house anymore. My wood has run out. It’s so cold. Is this how it’s going to end for me? Dead in my own house, killed by a blizzard?

 

February 10th

Resorted to burning some of Stephanie’s books to fuel a fire…She loved these things. I remember when she was about eight and she tried reading for the first time. Poor girl didn’t even know how to hold the book right. She couldn’t read a lick but she really tried. Margaret went and damn near spent all our savings on thick chapter books for our daughter who couldn’t so much as hold the damn book right. I yelled at her about it but honestly I couldn’t have been more proud. Margie always knew how to take care of the kids. And if my little Stephanie was going to grow up smarter than her old man, maybe she wouldn’t have to slave away on a farm like I have my whole life. 

Each page I rip off to feed the flames feels like I’m tearing a layer off my heart. I miss them. I miss them so much. My wife. My kids. I wish I had my old life again. I want it all back. Oh Avacyn…I’m sorry…

 

February 12th 

Storm is finally done and blown over. I burnt the last of the books now. The bookshelves I built are empty now. I guess that means I can break it down for firewood now, I guess.

Onions look blasted dead. Shit. Avacyn, what do I do now? No family. No life. Not even a damn farm to keep me going… why am I still alive anymore…

 

February 16th

Done clearing the field. Damn it, this is awful. I’ve lost everything. Literally everything. I guess I can try and plant some more onion and see if I can start over.

That’s all my life has become. Farming. And waiting. I can hear them in the distance. Sometimes I think I can hear them calling to me. They howl their dirge just for me and sometimes I wonder if it would be all bad to join them.

 

February 17th

A hoard of unhallowed lumbered out of the woods today. Shit, give me the raccoons back. They laid siege to the house all day. Had to take them out one by one. Running from one side of the house to lead them away, run half-way back, open the door and kill the one in the back, run back inside, close the door and lead them there.

Sun was almost set by the time I had finished them off. They were too stupid to catch on to what I was doing and too cold to move any faster than they were. I didn’t think that they were affected by the cold. Guess these were summoned by a Ghoulcaller who was caught in the blizzard and died.

 

February 19th 

I woke up this morning and found my front door off its hinges with long claw mark along the inside and outside of the house leading up to the door. Water pump was torn straight out of the ground.

It happened again. For a moment there, I thought I was able to ignore the call of the full moon. The howls in the distance never affected me that much but…

This is why you don’t deserve a family anymore, Harold. No one can love a werewolf. How could they. In one night, a werewolf can ruin everything. That’s why I am alone now. No one needs me near them.

 

February 21st

Oh Avacyn…it happened again. Why? If I could trade places with my family, I would do it without thinking. I don’t deserve to live. At least I was outside this time. But I remember how I changed. I could hear my bones breaking as they grew into the shape they needed to be. I could feel my hair grow faster than I could have imagined. I don’t remember much after that. But I woke up covered in blood and feeling full. I guess I ate last night. I can only hope it was a deer.

 

February 22nd

Would it be so bad if I just let it go? If I just forgot it all and let it consume me? I look at my hands and they are stained with blood that no amount of washing can cleanse. Oh Avacyn…would you forgive me if I just stopped fighting it? Would I be forbidden the Blessed Sleep if I surrender to my sorrow?

I think I’m starting to enjoy it now. I used to dread the feeling of transforming. But...now… I don’t know. Avacyn guide me. I am lost to myself.

What would Pellam say to me? He always knew what Avacyn would want me to do. He spoke with words of wisdom that even the priests at the cathedral in Lambholt were awed. Pellam was a gift to this world, Avacyn. He didn’t deserve to die…

 

February 23rd

Maybe… maybe I should just end it all right now. Take this knife and plunge it into my heart before the moon rises again tonight. Perhaps I deserve it. Perhaps that will be penance enough.

I can hear his voice now. “No daddy. Don’t do it. Avacyn believes in you. She wants you to grow and to change. She wants you to love and to live again. Avacyn loves you, daddy. Even if you don’t love you.”

My son was one the most beautiful things ever to have walked this world, Avacyn. I didn’t deserve him. I didn’t deserve any of them.

My father used to tell me the same thing. That I was the most priceless thing he had ever made in his life. I didn’t know how much he actually meant that.

 

February 24th   
The howlpacks in the distance call for me. My blood roils as I hear them. I fear they will come for me soon. Most of my days have been spent thinking about what I will say to them.

If my wife were here, she’d hug me and tell me that I was the head of the family and that she would support whatever decision I made. Margie was the greatest woman I could have ever found. I didn’t deserve her.

 

February 25th  
Stephanie was an artist, that one. She damn well was expensive to fund, but I never really minded it. I wanted her to grow up in a home far away from a farm. I wanted her to marry a handsome, loving, intelligent young man that would care for her and encourage her to be herself.

I realize now why my life recently has been so despairing. I don’t have anything I desire anymore. It used to be that all I wanted was for my little girl to settle down in a happy and luxurious home. It used to be that all I wanted was for my little Pellam to become the priest I always knew he would be. It used to be that all I wanted was to grow old with Margie. Grow old and die together.

Holy Avacyn. I ruined all of it. In all the names of the angels **I ruined it all! I killed them! I ripped my wife open like a fish. I backhanded my daughter through the kitchen wall and broke her like a doll. I ate my son! I ATE HIM!**

I did that. I did that. I did that. I deserve to die. But it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do that. There werewolf inside me did. I can’t be held responsible for what I can’t control, can I? It’s not right. It’s not fair. To anymore. To me. To them. To…

I deserve to die. It doesn’t matter if I wasn’t in control. Call it vengeance. Call it retribution. But the monster within me must be punished. No matter the cost.

 

February 26th

I tried ending it all. It didn’t work. I put the knife into my chest and the werewolf tore it out. I don’t think the wolf inside is going to let me do it. Each time I come close, the werewolf will surge to the surface and keep me from doing it.

Perhaps this is my penance. Perhaps I deserve this. To suffer for what I have done. To lament over my losses is my punishment for my crime.

 

February 27th 

I’m a coward, that’s all there is to it. I have to end it fast enough that the wolf within can’t stop me. Wait. Hold on…someone is at the door. Who could it be?

 

February 28th  
Inquisitors. Sent by the cathedral at Lambholt, telling me how much they missed my son and would love to see him attending regularly again. Naturally they grew suspicious when I couldn’t explain his absence. By the time they had drawn their swords, I had already transformed and was upon them. I had ripped open the first Inquisitor’s chest open by the time the other three reacted. I used the Inquisitor’s body like a flail and crushed one of the other Inquisitors against the walls of the house, splitting his head open. The third stood in shock while the fourth reached for a silver collar. I pounced and crushed him beneath my legs. The last one whispered prayers as I lunged at her throat.

It was exhilarating. It was terrifying. It was exciting. It was awful. I loved it! I hated it!

The thrill. The rush. I felt more alive than ever before. Is this what it’s like? To always have this thrill every day?

 

March 1st 

I buried the Inquisitors yesterday. The howlpacks nearby have started to close in on my house at night. They just sit there, staring at my home with their eyes, not making a sound. I think they want me to join them. I am going to have to make a choice soon. Either join them or ensure I never live long enough to transform again. I think I have decided which one I should take. May Avacyn forgive me…


	4. A Short Story of Avacyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That said, I am extremely proud of this short story. I REALLY enjoyed writing it. Avacyn is one of my favorite characters in the MTG universe and it was a thrill writing a story through her perspective. This story gives a view of Avacyn and her life and her perspective. It's got some action and a lot of what it is like for Avacyn to do the things she does.
> 
> *Please read the Chapter notes though. I don't want anyone upset with this story. Nothing is bad about the story. It's just that it resembles another Magic Story we've seen before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short story I wrote for my Table-Top Role-Playing group to help them get a better idea of Avacyn and who she is. Yes, there is a lot of similarities to Doug Beymayer's "Blank and Pitiless Gaze". That story really helped me understand her. I would have simply directed my group towards that story, except that the story had hints that Avacyn was created by someone else and included the Eldrazi's influence. I need this group to see her as she used to be, not as she died. So I wrote a story that followed a similar structure to Doug Beymayer's "Blank and Pitiless Gaze" but without all the thing I didn't need to have and using a completely different central event. If someone wants this gone, just ask. I only made this for my playgroup so they could get to know her a little more. I didn't intend to step on anyone's toes.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the cold mountain air. Not that she needed to breathe. Heavy fog draped over the frozen landscape that stretched for miles in front of her. The solitude this high up the Gier Reach gave her a serenity she could not find anywhere else on Innistrad, even across the vast expanse of ocean that separated the many continents of the world. She needed these moments, moments where she could take breath like the countless humans across the world she protected. All of her love came down to that simple act. So that the humans could continue breathing in peace, just as she was now.

The whispers in her mind never truly went away, even in these serene moments. She was okay with that. If the humans could find the humility and love to kneel and pray to her, then they deserved to have their prayers listened to. “Avacyn, Angel of Hope, protect me…” “Avacyn, guide him home…” “Avacyn, help her give birth safely…” “Avacyn, keep us safe from the monsters of the night…” An innumerable amount of prayers flowed into her mind at all times of every day, and she could hear each and every one of them independently. As powerful as she was, Avacyn knew she could not possibly answer them all. Even with the many flights of angels that served her, even with her devoted lieutenants, Bruna and Gisela, Avacyn knew she and her angels could not possibly answer them all. That was why it was important for her to work with the church the humans had built around her.

Avacyn had long ago learned that the humans were a resilient people. Humans, when inspired, the humans were capable of extraordinary feats of love and strength. She had seen the Inquisitors of the church protect entire cities, fighting both human criminals and the Skaabs created by their curious misguided scientist masters. Entire hoards of unhallowed have been slain in her name by the faithful Cathars of her church. Mere farmers and townsfolk were able to band together to drive a werewolf away, so long as they believed that Avacyn was listening to their prayers. They often ascribed powers to her that she had no control over, such as the changing of the seasons…but it didn’t matter. The humans needed to believe and she was content with allowing them to continue believing so, if it would help them find strength in themselves.

The Angel of Hope stretched her great wings as she prepared to leave. She could ill afford such luxuries such as personal time or reflection. Her people needed her and she could not bear to leave their prayers unanswered. Yes, there were millions of prayers streaming into her mind at all times of each day. But sometimes a brilliant prayer would stand out to her. Prayers of fantastic hope or unyielding faith. The desperate prayers of a loving mother. Humble prayers of terrified children. Steadfast prayers of Cathars and priests as they prepare to face a demon. These people needed her. And Avacyn would answer. Not all of them, but as many as she could.

She took off, using her power to fly through the thin atmosphere of the mountaintops. A powerful prayer that shone brighter than all the others called her attention. Two children in Gavony were hiding from a werewolf that had slain their parents and now prayed for her to rescue them. She would be there. Faster than even the winds themselves, she soared to their rescue. Children were beautiful. They represented such innocence and purity. Those children didn’t ask to come to the dark and dangerous world they were born into. It was Avacyn’s duty to ensure all children would come to a world where they would be safe, a world that deserved a child’s love and laughter.

Clouds parted and made way for The Angel of Hope as she held her Moonsilver Spear aloft and ahead of her, further aiding her speed. Sunlight broke through the gathered but rainless clouds above as she closed in. Arriving in a golden helix of light, from the sun, from her spear, and from her own power, Avacyn spread her wings to slow her decent. The two werewolves that rummaged through the homestead turned and shielded their eyes from her radiance.

It was uncommon, though not unheard of, that werewolves would hunt in daylight. But it didn’t matter now. These poor souls had been consumed by the bestial spirit that slumbered deep inside all humans. Even if the werewolves themselves didn’t know it, Avacyn could hear their souls begging for release. She would give it to them. Avacyn raised her Moonsilver Spear and blasted forward, impaling one of the werewolves before either had a chance to react. The Angel of Hope carried the three hundred pound werewolf on her spear as though it weighed little more than a pillow into the sky before willing her power to flow through the spear to incinerate the wolf in holy power. In a crumble of dust, the werewolf was no more, the human soul inside freed from its bestial tormentor to move on to the Blessed Sleep.

The final werewolf made a run, heading for the rocky moorlands to the north. Avacyn raised her spear and flew towards the beast. To her surprise, the beast stopped moving altogether as soon as she came within striking distance. As she tried to spread her wings and use her power to shift her momentum so she could face the werewolf head on, the beast had launched itself off its powerful legs and landed on her back. It wrapped its powerful jaws around her shoulder and tried to tear her arm off. Were she any other angel, the werewolf might have lost it. She grimaced in great pain as the werewolf kept trying to bite harder and raked her back with its massive, sharp, claws. Avacyn closed in her wings, tucked one of them beneath the werewolf’s chest, and expanded them with as much power as she could muster. There werewolf’s teeth tore out of her as her wings shoved it away, tumbling across the ground. Brilliant red blood flowed from her injuries and pain wracked her body. Avacyn reached for the prayers that continually slowed through her mind. She turned the faith and love from those prayers into holy magic that restored her form back to full health.

So long as the people of Innistrad believed in her, she would be invincible. Not invulnerable, as the werewolf had reminded her. Avacyn raised her palm toward the sky and willed the light of the sun to trap the werewolf. There werewolf leapt away from the prison of sunlight that closed in on it before it would captured in the holy prison. It took off once more, heading toward the moorlands. No. The beast would not escape. She could hear the human soul within begging for the Blessed Sleep and the prayers of the children in the house. Avacyn raised her hand, palm outward and aimed at the werewolf, and channeled some of her holy magic. A twin helix of holy lightning flashed from her hand toward the werewolf. The power struck the werewolf from behind, burning away its hind legs, leaving it crashing into the ground. Even for the monsters that plagued this world, she felt pity. No one deserved to suffer. She would end the werewolf’s life quickly. Even as she approached, there werewolf’s hind legs were starting to regenerate.

“May your spirit rest forever in the Blessed Sleep.” She whispered as she drove her spear through the werewolf’s head, ending its life. For a moment, she stood over the werewolf’s corpse as it slowly reverted back to its human form. As much as she fought the monsters of this world for the sake of humans…the truth was she did it for the sake of the monsters themselves. Inside of each of them is, or was, a human spirit begging for the Blessed Sleep… even if the monster didn’t know or want it. She stretched her wings and lightly took off, using more magic than wings to move. The children cautiously peeked out from the broken doorframe of their home, where claw marks half as long as the children themselves had torn the door form its hinges. Avacyn landed in front of the children and spread her arms out to them. For a moment the children hesitated, tears in their eyes. Then they rushed into her loving arms and allowed their tears to flow freely.

“I can feel your suffering, children.” She whispered as she held them tight. “Your parents will find their way to the Blessed Sleep, I promise you. I will guide their souls myself.” Still the children held tight to her, letting their fear and their grief out, knowing that Avacyn was listening and sharing their emotions.

A lone tear rolled down from Avacyn’s solid white, pupil-less, eyes. She closed them and pressed a kiss onto each of the children’s foreheads. “I love you, children. You have been deprived of so much by those who themselves are lost.”

For a long time she held them until at last the children had finished their tears at which point Avacyn pulled back and looked them both in the eyes. “You will be taken care of. There are good people in Thraben who have dedicate their lives to helping children find homes where they will be loved and cared for. I know no amount of assurances and promises will ease your pains, my children. But take hope and carry my words in your hearts with you wherever your go in this life: I will carry your parents to the Blessed Sleep myself; I will always watch over you and your loved ones; and always, always, remember that I love you.” The children rubbed the tears from their eyes as they silently nodded, doing their best to cease their sniffling.

“Go. Gather whatever belongings you have. I will remain here for a while longer.” Again, they nodded solemnly and slowly trundled back into their home to gather their teddy bears and family portraits.

Avacyn closed her eyes and reached her mind out to one of the angels at Thraben, explaining the situation and telling her to send out a unit of Cathars to come for the children. Avacyn remained there with the children, comforting them with her presence, until the other angel arrived.

“Children. I must go now.” For a moment, the children seemed to despair, but she quickly eased their fears. “There are many more people out there that need me as you have needed me. I have called for some Cathars to take you and your belongings to Thraben. Until then, I will have one of my angels watch over you.” She could feel the fear in their eyes. Avacyn knelt down before them and gave them each one last hug. “There are other mommies and daddies and brothers and sisters who need saving, little ones. But never forget that I will watch over you. That I will always love you.” She stood up and wiped a tear from her eye before the children could see it. “Farewell, my children.”

The Angel of Hope lifted her wings and slowly ascended into the sky until she was above the clouds. She searched the prayers in her mind and sensed the desperation of many who prayed for her help in Nephalia against an attack of powerful Skaabs. Avacyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she was off.


	5. An Angel's Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the greatest short story I think I've ever written thus far. If you never read another short story of mine, read this one. It's beautiful.
> 
> This is the story of how an angel discovers happiness, something angels on don't do. She discovers emotions and feelings that only a handful of angels have ever had. Everyone knows angels love people. But not like this. She discovers a whole different kind of love. No smut, just romance.

An Angel’s Love

Chapter 1:

Amara fit another dried and sculpted twig into her model of the Thraben Cathedral. Few humans knew the Cathedral better than she did. Of course, her sisters did, but that was because this is where all angels of The Flight of Alabaster roosted. This was their home in a way that the humans would, by the nature of the structure, never fully appreciate. All of her sisters had their own hobbies during their rare and precious “free time”. Free time wasn’t the right word. Given leave. That’s closer to what she meant. They were warriors, afterall. There always needed to be a standby army in case of emergencies. When her division was granted leave, Amara spent her time on her model, using meticulous precision in all of its design. She had been given tiny tools and even a magnification glass to help her when she first began by the priests in the Cathedral.

When she started making the model, she had no idea how many years it would take to finish. She didn’t even know what she intended to do with it when it was done. But that was fine. Amara would live forever. Her project would be finished someday.

A light buzz on the back of her mind told her that there was a man within the Merchant’s Wall that was making a prayer once again. It was not unheard of that humans would pray to specific angels other than Avacyn herself, but it was uncommon. Especially in Thraben, so close to Avacyn’s center of operations. Amara set down her tools and twigs and closed her eyes to hear this man’s prayer. Ah, it was Harvey. His prayers were always bright in her mind. Harvey prayed to her every day, three times a day. Amara didn’t mind. One less prayer going to Avacyn helped ease the Archangel’s load if even just a little. Praying to specific angels wasn’t encouraged among Avacyn’s faithful, but it certainly wasn’t discouraged. If that was the case, most of Stensia would be in trouble since just about every family there had a patron angel of the Host of Herons that they prayed to.

Amara spread her wings and glided out to the balcony overlooking the great city of Thraben. Harvey was a good spirit. Like all her sisters, she could see the light within every human, a brightness that spoke of the goodness of their heart. Even among the hundreds of thousands of faithful in Thraben, Harvey stood out to her. Perhaps she could see him more distinctly because he was one of three that prayed to her. But she didn’t think so. When Harvey prayed, there was a sincerity in his words that touched even her angelic heart.

She glided down from the balcony to one of the flying buttresses of the Cathedral. The early morning sun bathed her in its glow as she listened to his prayers. Protection and prosperity were always among his prayers. But he rarely prayed for himself. Harvey would take the time each morning to pray to her for each person in his life that was on his mind. His mother and his brother were as constant as the mountains of Stensia But they weren’t the only ones. Today prayed for the florist across the street who had lost a rose bush to blight. Yesterday, he prayed for the cobbler on the next block who had broken his pinky and was having trouble writing. Harvey prayed for everyone but himself. But that was alright. That was why she was here. To watch over this man whose heart seemed to be grander than most. Above all the things he prayed for, was gratitude. He thanked Avacyn for his hands and implored Amara to make sure Avacyn knew of his gratitude. He thanks Avacyn for his eyes, for his legs, for his ever beating heart.

People like this were rare. Amara couldn’t imagine how many Avacyn herself knew of, but the fact that even one such person prayed to her was a gift. Angels didn’t take pride in those that prayed to them or those they watched over. They were meant to protect and serve. Pride and competition and jealousy were not part of an angel’s nature. But she couldn’t help but feel grateful to Avacyn for letting her have this one. People like Harvey reminded her of the truth that Avacyn fought so valiantly for. Humans were beautiful creatures capable of love. A love that was as powerful as the angels themselves. Not that she ever doubted it, of course. Just… it was nice to know that among the humans that prayed to her there was one such person.

Amara glided over to the chimney of the florist’s shop and gazed upon Harvey’s wood carving shop. He had finished his prayers now and was preparing to set to work. Unlike many others of his profession, Harvey chose to work outside. “To leave an impact on the people of Thraben in a much more personal way,” she had heard him tell the cobbler before. Shortly after that conversation, the cobbler himself started working outside the storefront to greet the passersby.

Even now, Harvey greeted the early morning shoppers and pedestrians. Those that had been down this street more than once knew him by name now. He just had that kind of charisma. Amara held a special place in her heart for this man. Not in the way humans held each other, of course. Just that he was the kind of man whose life reached out and touched others.

He had only seen her once before. A thief had broken into his shop late at night and picked the lock on the vault where Harvey kept his life savings. Understandably, Harvey sent Avacyn a panicked prayer. Human were silly. They would pray to the angels to help them in their daily endeavors of completing an errand in time or in helping them fix a broken relationship. Angels didn’t have the power nor the time for such frivolities. But when it came to something an angel could actually do, they acted upon it as soon as they could. Avacyn had detected his prayer and sent it to Amara to act upon. Amara had captured the thief before he had run off more than a block away. She turned the thief over to the Inquisitors and went to personally deliver the stolen property to Harvey. That was the one and only time they had met. And somehow it was enough for him to choose her as the one he would pray to. He didn’t even know her name.

Amara took a breath, a very human thing to do as angels didn’t need to breathe, and she let it out slowly as her mind skimmed through the prayers of the other two that prayed to her. None of those prayers had requests she could actually fulfill anyways. She could indulge herself a few more moments here.

He was handsome by human standards. She wondered why he didn’t have a spouse. Not that it mattered to her whether he had one, of course. Just that as a concerned angel, she wondered if he would be happier with a significant other. As she mused in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed Harvey had set aside his tools and stood up to stretch. By chance, he happened to glance towards the sky. That’s when he saw her. His face turned from his normal jolly semblance to one of surprise and awe. Amara gazed back at him and froze. What was she supposed to do? Was she meant to say hello? Hold her gaze to let him know she was watching over him? Did he recognize her? How could he? Of so many angels in Thraben how could Harvey know who she was?

“Is it you, my angel?” he whispered so softly that even he had trouble hearing himself. But angels knew when they were being spoken to, they always did.

He did recognize her! Amara’s wings twitched and she softly chewed on her lower lip. What was she supposed to do? This kind of thing had never happened to her before. The only interactions with humans she had experienced were those that came after a battle or after providing assistance. Never something as mundane as happening upon each other across the street.

“Is that you, my angel? Watching over me?” He whispered so quietly the she knew he was speaking directly to her.

The panic rushed to her face and Amara spread her wings and took to the skies. She shook her head, her long red wavy hair tossing about her face. Foolish, foolish Amara. She can’t panic like that in front of Avacyn’s faithful. Angels are meant to be a symbol of hope and stability and protection. Not panic. It’s not like he could tell anyways. He must have just thought she was watching over him is all. How could he possibly know her state of mind as she took off? There was no way he could… But if he did? Would he think less of her? No, Harvey was one of Avacyn’s faithful. This incident couldn’t possibly change that.

The brief thought of Harvey losing faith in Avacyn felt like ice water down her back. She sped up her flight speed until she reached the clouds and Thraben looked no bigger than the model in her roost. Foolish Amara. She was overthinking this. Amara took a deep breath of the crisp high altitude air. A warm trickle of a thought eased itself into her mind.

“Thank you, my angel. For watching over me. I knew that my love for you and for Lady Avacyn and her Archangels was listened to. Tonight, I will sleep all the sounder for it.”

Foolish Amara. It was so obvious now that he would react that way. She knew his faith well enough by now to know it. Amara let her breath out slowly, gratefully. She wanted so much to go back and talk to him, to tell him that she loved him too, that she would always watch over him. But not love in the same way humans loved one another; it was unheard of for angels to feel that way. Well maybe not unheard of, just extremely rare. Not that she had those kinds of feelings, of course. Just the protective and caring kind of love, as all angels have for humans.

She shook her head once more, chiding herself for her overreaction. A warm prayer sent by Avacyn touched her mind. Someone’s home had caught fire nearby and he needed rescuing. Amara spread her wings wide, releasing the tension she hadn’t noticed was in them and took off.

Between her and a few of her sisters, they managed to put out the fire with tranquility enchantments that calmed the fire down until it extinguished itself. A devil had caused the flame. Not a surprise. The little creatures were always up to mischief. Starting fires was among their vast lost of known pranks. But of course, devils were far too small, too nimble, too clever to be caught or killed. An annoyance, but one for the Inquisitors of the Cathars to deal with.

Amara was pleased with their work. No one was killed and they even managed to save most of the victim’s house and belongings. It would take a while, but they would be able to rebuild their lives relatively easily. Their grateful smiles and waves as she took off filled her with satisfaction. This is what she and her sisters fought for every day. To bring about happiness.

_________

It had been a few weeks since she last saw him. Once again her division was granted leave for a few days. Once she had arrived, showered, and changed out of her Battle Armor into her At-Rest Armor, Amara devoted herself to the scale model of the Cathedral. She wanted this model needed to be perfect. Maybe she would give to Avacyn. Or more likely to her commander, Bruna. She’d figure it out eventually. Hours after she had begun, with an endurance no human could have, a warm buzz in the back of her mind told of a prayer being sent to her. When a division is granted leave, the angels don’t receive prayers from Avacyn or even their Flight Archangels. But even she could not ignore a direct prayer.

Of course. It was Harvey. Like the clock at the tower in front of the Cathedral, his prayers came around consistently. Of late, his prayers had grown more sincere. More grateful. They took longer than they used to. He prayed slowly, making sure each sentence was heartfelt and meaningful. If his gratitude was a bright characteristic of his before, it was a lighthouse in a storm now. She couldn’t help but stop what she was doing and appreciate the sincerity of his words. Of the love in his heart and thoughts. Praying in gratitude for the little things in his life. Praying for his friend, for her neighbor, for the man who slighted him today. Never once had he ever prayed about a lover, though. Which almost came as a surprise, as humans had a tendency to pray about them. Not that she cared if he prayed about a lover or not, of course. Just that she found it endearing. Correction—she found it unusual. That was more the word she was looking for.

She glanced at her model. It was starting to finally look like the Cathedral. Each pew, each candlestick, all of it was down to the finest detail. Amara felt pride in her work—correction, satisfaction. For a moment she wondered what Harvey would think of it. Not that it mattered, of course. Just that he was very skilled at his craft and would be able to give her a proper opinion. Amara took a moment to look around her to the rest of the roosts in the tower. Dozens of the sisters of her division were out answering personal prayers or working on their own personal projects. Her art was unique in its own way. Surra was a musician, practicing a variety of woodwinds and pianos. Sirra had a large glass dome with a variety of flowers and plants in which she kept a collection of rare and beautiful butterflies. But this model was hers. Uniquely hers and hers alone. Not that she took pride in it, of course. Just that she took satisfaction in it.

A twinge of guilt touched her mind. She was here working on personal projects when some of her sisters were out answering prayers even during their leave. Maybe she should make the rounds and check up on the humans that prayed to her. Just to be sure she wasn’t ignoring them. Her personal project was important, but never more important than those whom she served and protected.

She gently glided out of the aerie and out toward her people. After making sure all was well with the other two that prayed to her, Amara let herself glide over to the Merchant’s wall where Harvey’s shop was. With an orange hued sky of the setting sun at her back, she landed on the chimney of the florist’s shop, casting long shadows across the street in the evening light. Harvey was moving his heavy wooden carvings, statues really, back inside for the night. He didn’t even struggle to move them and she knew they must be heavy for a human to move. Not his strength mattered to her, of course. Just that it was nice to know he was more than capable of protecting himself should he ever be in trouble. If he called, she would still come to him. As she would have with all of the humans who prayed to her, of course.

The florist called out to Harvey, wishing him a good rest of the day and he glanced up and flashed the elderly woman a smile. He probably didn’t now it, but it was a dazzling smile, one that was so simple but so honest. Not that it mattered to her…well it didn’t matter really if she thought that. It was just a smile. As he came back outside to bring in his final statue, he caught sight of her shadow on the ground. He followed the shadow up to her and grinned. Amara involuntarily sent a small smile back at him…not that it mattered if she did it voluntarily or not, it was just a smile after all. Harvey raised a palm and waved it at her, a typical salutation among the humans. Amara hesitated for a moment before she raised her own palm and sent him a small, hesitant, wave back, not quite sure what else to do. Her wave earned her a dazzling smile.

Amara felt a touch of joy within herself. She had just brightened up the rest of his evening. He didn’t even have to ask… and all she did was give him a smile a small wave. Perhaps she could take pride in that? In knowing she made one of the humans who prayed to her happy without even needing to be asked?

Harvey set down the statue and straightened up. She could feel him whisper, “Again you come to me my angel… I have a strange request to make of you…I have never seen an angel smile until you did just now. You do so much for me and everyone else on Innistrad. An angel as beautiful and as loving as you deserves to smile. Please. Smile more often.”

Amara’s pulse quickened, not quite sure what to think of his prayer. She instinctively spread her wings to take off and fly. As she raised herself into the air, she gave him another slight wave of her hand. His request was confusing. Angels weren’t meant to fulfill all of a human’s wishes. But they were supposed to answer all prayers that they could. But…his prayer asked for her to smile? Amara wasn’t sure if the request would be considered too frivolous to merit being answered. She didn’t know what to think of it at all.

As Amara flew back to her roost, she wondered how many more days Bruna would let her division have off. Not that she was unwilling to go and serve, of course. Just that she wanted to work on her model a little more. Amara would faithfully, joyfully, and gladly serve should she be called. There was no doubt about that…but a few more days off would be nice.

   
  


Chapter 2

Bruna, Archangel of the Flight of Alabaster, her commander, had to cut their leave short. A great war had taken place across the sea on a faraway land where mountains spewed molten earth. Thousands of souls needed guiding to the Blessed Sleep. That was why angel divisions were set aside and given leave. For situations such as this. The longer these souls remained in the world, the more likely it was that they could be captured or turn into geists. The journey across the ocean had taken several days, so some of the souls had become corrupted by the time she arrived with her sisters. Local divisions of Flight Alabaster angels had been busy keeping nerco-alchemists away from the battle grounds to keep the souls from being captured or destroyed. With the arrival of her division, they could finally begin the clean up process.

After a long week of work, they had ferried the souls to the Blessed Sleep and exterminated the souls who had become geists. She and her sisters were granted leave as they had fought and flown for weeks without rest. It was always a joy to guide souls to the Blessed Sleep. Though it was was sad that people had died, it was a joy to ensure those people would never rise again.

Back at the Cathedral and after a much needed shower, she went back to her roost to work on her model. Not that angels really needed to shower. They could exterminate all imperfections and filth by radiating a purifying glow of white mana from themselves. But showering was an option they had and that some angels took. Amara liked showering. The physical beating of the water against her solidified the idea that she had been granted leave. Not long after the sun had set she felt Harvey’s nighttime prayer. He wasn’t asking for anything, this time. Instead, he only prayed in gratitude. For the stars. For the clean air. For the safe streets. For the breath in his lungs. For the pulse in his veins. If only all humans could be as grateful for the little things in life as Harvey was…

Amara rose and gently glided out of the aerie and landed on the chimney of the florist across the street from his shop. Like many of the vendors along the Merchant’s Wall, Harvey lived in the second floor. He was out back it seemed, as she couldn’t sense him inside. Tentatively, she rose from her perch and landed on the chimney of the shop beside his and looked into his backyard. There he was, humming a hymn to himself beside a bright fire. Shadows danced across the defined muscles of his bare back and arms as he carved away at a statue she couldn’t quite see from her angle. For a human who had never seen the field of battle, he certainly had the build of a warrior.

She admired his devotion. There was passion in all his statues but she could tell, even from a distance, that this one was special. Some time passed before Harvey took a break and headed inside, perhaps to relieve himself. Amara ventured a peek and glided down and landed to look at the statue.

It was an angel. Harvey was carving out the image of Avacyn. Even in this early, rougher stage, she could tell this was going to be a masterpiece. Amara traced the shapes and the rough details of the statue with her fingers, amazed at Harvey’s woodcrafting skill. So enraptured was she by the statue she didn’t notice when Harvey had returned. He leaned against the doorframe and watched her for a few seconds, a pleased smile on his face. Her battle instincts detected a force behind her and she whirled around to face him, hand reaching for the sword at her hip.

Harvey chuckled and raised a hand, “Easy there. You’d sunder me apart like a hot knife though butter with that weapon.”

Amara hesitated for a moment, far too many instincts and thoughts and emotions in her mind competing for attention. She noticed her hand was resting on the pommel of her sword and let out a tiny gasp, grateful she hadn’t drawn it.

His steady soothing voice tried to ease her wild thoughts and feelings before she took off. “It’s okay. I’m not afraid. I trust you.” Her wings twitched. Her eyes were wide and he realized he was probably intimidating her. Even he knew angels and humans rarely had such casual conversations. What do you think?” he asked, gesturing at the carving, hoping to give her something to focus on. “Beautiful, huh?”

She let out a ragged breath, trying to keep her at bay the panic of not knowing what to do, and slowly diverted her attention away from his distracting green eyes to the statue beside her. Her stance eased and her wings relaxed as she ran her finger over the feathers of one of the statue’s wings.

“It’s not for a client,” he explained, crossing his arms across his broad chest. She glanced at him, confused. “It’s personal. For me. Like a project I do for fun. Been working on it every night for weeks now.”

Amara nodded. Just like her model of the Cathedral. She tried to speak, but couldn’t manage to actually form any words. It was as though some oppressive magic was preventing her from translating thought into speech.

“Recognize the image? I know it’s still kind of rough.” He asked, playful smile on his face. She looked up to him as though he had asked a rhetorical question. “It’s not Avacyn, if that’s what you think. I’ve made dozens of Avacyn statues. This one,” he said as he approached laying his large rough hands gingerly along the wing ridge opposite of the one she was inspecting. “this one is special.”

Was it Sigharda? No, the shape of the jaw and hips wasn’t right. Was it Gisela? No, Gisela was much more streamlined than this. Bruna, perhaps? Closer, but not quite. If it wasn’t Avacyn and it wasn’t her Archangels, then who- her eyes widened as the idea crossed her mind that this might be a statue of her.

He grinned as he saw her reaction. “I don’t know if angels have mirrors up in your roosts. But I hoped you’d recognize it.”

Why? Why would he carve a statue of her? Did he worship her more than Avacyn? That would be blasphemous! Her wings twitched as confusion assailed her mind. She had to force her wings to calm to prevent herself from taking off.

Harvey noticed the look on her face and shook his head, holding out a hand reassuringly. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t make this for myself. Well, I sort of did, but I didn’t mean to keep it.”

She stared into his frustratingly distracting green eyes inquisitively and hesitantly pointed a finger at her chest.

“Yeah, I mean-” He said as he bashfully rubbed the back of his head. “-you do so much for me I thought it was the least I could do. Give you something back.”

Her eyes glanced at his arm for a moment before coming back to his face. She didn’t even know how to respond anymore. What was she supposed to do? There wasn’t a protocol for this! Was she allowed to take it? Should she be angry? Grateful? Should she report it to Bruna? What was she supposed to do?

His bright face became crestfallen when he saw the whirlwind of ever increasing confusion on her face. “You don’t like it? Did I do something wrong?”

She shook her head vigorously, red waves brushing against her cheeks. Did all of her sisters have such trouble speaking with them? How did Avacyn do it? Avacyn made interacting with humans so easy!

Harvey solemnly nodded, “It’s okay. I get it. You don’t have to say anything. I’m sure this must be overwhelming for you.” he said, bashfully rubbing the back of his head again, smiling childishly, “My heart is nearly pounding out of my chest right now—and I’m accustomed to talking with people. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you.”

Amara forcibly relaxed her wings and let out the breath she hadn’t noticed she had been holding. This wasn’t easy for her and it was kind of him to be so understanding. She gave him a tiny, insecure, smile. His face brightened up to match the flame beside them and she felt her cheeks grow uncharacteristically warm. Amara glanced away from his face. Her cheeks flashed from warm to blazing hot as her eyes fell across his powerfully defined core. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m sorry if I’ve kept you from whatever duties you’ve got.” He hesitated for a moment, his eyes softening, “Thank you for coming. I don’t know what brought you around tonight. But it means a lot to me.” Harvey extended a hand to her, “It is nice to behold your beauty in person at last. It will certainly help with my statue.”

She stared at the hand as though she had never seen one. Amara had seen humans do this before but she never quite understood-

Harvey chuckled and nodded, “It’s a human thing. We extend our hands and grip each other’s palms in a sign of trust and respect. It’s used for saying hello or…” he shrugged, his broad shoulders sagging just a little.

Amara gazed deep into his eyes. Angels didn’t have irises or pupils. They were pure white representations of the unbiased perception of justice. She knew it probably offset Harvey to look into them, humans generally didn’t tend to like eyes that looked different than theirs. But at the moment it didn’t matter. She didn’t want to say goodbye. Goodbye implied a farewell, and she would always be watching over him.

She took a hesitant step towards him. Standing right next to him, she realized that he was tall for a human. Nearly half a head taller than her and certainly much broader than her. Amara took an unnecessary deep breath and hesitantly extended her own hand to his. Despite the fact that angels were born for battle, their bodies didn’t wear like those of a human. Her hands were still as slender as they had always been. His hand practically enveloped hers as they gripped palms. With the strength all angels had, she had to try not to squeeze too hard. Not that it was a problem. He seemed to restrain himself too.

Harvey smiled at her. A simple smile. Not the endearing childish smile she had seen or the dazzling polite smile he gave his friends. No, this one had all the sincerity of his prayers. It was…beautiful.

“Good night, my angel.” He said as he released her hand.

Unsure of what the proper human farewell procedure was like, she took a step back and prepared to fly. She searched her mind for memories of what she had seen humans do in situations like this. As she rose into the air, she grabbed onto one such memory. Her tongue was far too tied up right now for her to say anything, frustrating her to no end. So instead she gave him a small wave just as she did before all those weeks ago before extending her wings and taking off into the night sky.

The night was uncharacteristically hot on her way back. Her face was burning like the fire in his backyard. Had she stood too close? No. Angels were so resistant to fire that they were almost incapable of being burned. She didn’t want to think about it. It didn’t matter. Despite herself, she noticed herself smiling. An action that in itself was exceedingly rare among angels. Not that it was unheard of, of course. Just…well, she deserved to smile. 

_________ 

Amara didn’t get to work on her model for much longer than she had hoped. Downtime for an angel was uncommon. Innistrad has many enemies that need vanquishing and her division is but one of many who are rotated for leave. Between missions she made quick trips to check on Harvey’s statue, always making sure she was out of sight. Not that she was afraid of talking to him, of course. Just that she didn’t really have the time. Tonight was one such night.

It was obvious Harvey was really pouring himself into this. Amara ran her hand over the carving’s increasingly detailed face and could sense the emotions Harvey was feeling as he worked on them. Devotion. Dedication. Gratitude. Love. Amara smiled. Which was okay because it was just a smile. For once in her life, a human was doing something for her. That never happened to angels. Well, it did happen but it was extremely rare. But of all angels, one of her humans, correction—one of the humans that prayed to her, was making something for her. Amara couldn’t help but feel satisfied—correction, she couldn’t help but feel loved. That was the word. Not that the prayers she heard from those that prayed to her ever lacked love, of course. Just… this love wasn’t ephemeral. It was more than just a thought that touched her own. It was a physical manifestation of his emotions. No one else had felt that way enough for her to express themselves physically.

She knew humans often gave each other presents as a means to show affection, friendship, gratitude, and appreciation. Her human—correction, one of the humans that prayed to her, truly cared for her. She was more than just an angel to answer his prayers. To Harvey, she had significance other than just what she was or what she did or what she could do. Harvey cared for her. Cared for Amara, not just Amara, the Angel.

Warmth alighted on her cheeks as she thought about that. In his eyes, she was a person…not just an angel. Amara could feel her entire frame sigh, if that were possible. She smiled as she noticed that Harvey had started working on the details of her face now. He was close to being done.

 

Chapter 3

Another couple of months went by before her division was finally given leave. Amara had seen being assigned leave as another mission, another assignment. Now she saw it as more than that. It was an opportunity to work on her model. An opportunity to see her human—correction, the humans that prayed to her. She really needed to stop thinking about him as her human. Not that he wasn’t, of course. Just that…well she shouldn’t be thinking of him in possessive manner. That was inappropriate. Angels didn’t do that.

Amara took great satisfaction in how well her model of the Cathedral was progressing. By watching Harvey work on her statue—correction, the statue of her, she learned that love improved performance. He loved his work. But her statue—correction, the statue of her- was significantly more detailed and beautiful than the rest of Harvey’s carvings. Not because he was spending more time on it, he only really worked on it for an hour or so a night, but because he was pouring love into his work. By seeing her Cathedral as an object of love instead of a hobby, the rate at which it was progressing was much faster than she could have imagined. Maybe she would give it to Commander Bruna when she completed it. She still hadn’t made up her mind about whether she was going to give it to Bruna or to Avacyn. What would Harvey think of it? Not that she was planning on giving it to him, of course. Just that…well, he was a woodcarver and would more fully appreciate her craft. Maybe that’s why she should give it to him. But…she loved Avacyn and Commander Bruna above all other things. Shouldn’t her gift go to one of them? They already had everything she could offer though. Her entire existence was devoted to them and to the humans she fought to protect. All of her love already belonged to them. Would it be so bad if she gave this small token away to her human—correction, to the human that prayed to her? No. She couldn’t think like that. It was borderline blasphemous.

But wasn’t that exactly what Harvey was doing? He has already dedicated himself to Avacyn and her church. Every statue he carved had to do with the church. He didn’t see the statue as a representation of love greater than his love for Avacyn. The Archangel already had vastly more of his heart than any statue could equate…so was it so bad to consider giving it to him?

She would figure it out later. This leave was longer than normal, five days instead of three, and she intended on making the most of it. Amara worked tirelessly, stopping only to sleep as much as her mind needed. She wasn’t quite sure why she was so intent on finishing it. Amara had no idea who she was going to give it to anyways. It didn’t matter. Whoever she was going to give it to would love it. He’d probably—correction whoever it was, would probably love regardless if it was done this week or a few months from now.

When at last she finished it four days later, she had accomplished as much as she had in the last few decades. All because she was pouring her love into the work. Love that an angel feels for her human—correction, for the humans that pray to them. Purely platonic and not romantic like the humans had. Not that it was unheard of for angels to have those feelings…or that she had those feelings…not that it would be a problem if she did have those feelings…not that she did, though…

Amara bit her lip thoughtfully. She had never experienced such conflicting thoughts and emotions until she had started seeing Harvey. Not that she was seeing him in the way humans see each other, of course… not that it would be unheard of if she did choose to. More like seeing him in the way that involved her visiting him. Not him personally, of course. Just checking up on her humans—correction, on the humans that prayed to her.

Amara closed her eyes and shook her head. I guess my mind is made up for me. I can’t get the idea of giving it to him out of my head.

A clear, bright thought burst its way through her troubled mind, a prayer unlike any she had ever heard before. Harvey. No. Not just a prayer. A call for help. He was in danger. She only had on her At-Rest Robes on, not exactly battle armor. It didn’t matter. Harvey was in trouble. Amara grabbed her sword and shot out of the aerie at a speed she knew was disrespectful to the Archangels. Amara would have to apologize later.

When she blasted across the city to Harvey’s home, her heart froze in her chest. His shop was on fire. His shop was on fire! True panic, not like the confusing warmth that thinking of Harvey made her feel, pulsed in her veins moving her to action. Amara swooped by, looking for a landing zone. The speed with which she flew past blew out some of the flames, enough for her to land through a hole in the roof on the top floor. Avacyn guide me, she thought. This is bad.

Amara tossed aside the burning statues he had throughout his home and the rubble from the building itself. Humans did not have the resilience against fire that angels did. It wouldn’t take long for a little bit of fire to wreak a lot of damage on a human. She had to find him. There was just so much burning wood everywhere! Of course her human had to—correction- NO! She didn’t have time for this! Of course her human had to be a wood carver. She ran through her options, realizing that trying to find him beneath the rubble would take too long. As an angel of the Flight of Alabaster, her skills weren’t so much with her blade, though she was quite competent with it, but in her magic. But she had never cast a spell as powerful as she needed now. Using the dampening power of White magic, she tried casting a tranquility spell on the building that would calm the chaos of the fire until it died down.

But it was beyond her abilities. Amara had never cast a spell this powerful and this encompassing before. She had always been able to rely on her sisters when she needed to cast spells of this magnitude.

“My angel! Where are you?” She heard him shout from downstairs. That was all she needed. Amara took a grip on his words and followed their love and their faith, using it to fuel her spell. The blood pounded in her ears as she strained her body and her magic to their limit. Around her, the flames began to die down…but it still wasn’t enough. Amara couldn’t risk relocating downstairs and losing the spell she had going. She didn’t have time to find him under the rubble downstairs or try to rebuild the spell in time to save him.

Performance is improved with love. She thought to herself. Her mind flashed to images of her statue—correction- NO! Shut up! It was her statue! Memories of her statue and the model of the Cathedral in her roost flashed to the forefront of her mind. I need to add love, she thought. Drawing upon a source of power she had never before thought of using, she fueled her spell with her own love.

Using the magic inherent to her as an angel of the Flight Alabaster, using the magic of Harvey’s love and faith, and using the magic of her own love, her spell expanded until it fully enclosed the entire building. It would take a few moments for the fires to burn out. She had to make sure the enchantment would last that long. But every moment felt longer than the last. Each second weighed upon her like a hurricane. Bright lights danced across her vision; she was reaching the limitations of her body. If she kept channeling magic this way, her body would incinerate from mana burn… It didn’t matter. Harvey needed her.

With renewed vigor, Amara channeled even more magic into her spell. Every inch of her body, both inside and out, burned. Not like when she thought of Harvey. She burned like molten rock of the mountains across the sea. Amara let out an involuntary cry of pain from her lungs. But she wouldn’t give up. She would channel the magic to put these flames out even if it killed her. Amara had never imagined that an angel was capable of feeling so much pain. But the idea of Harvey’s light dying from this world was a greater pain on her heart than her body could ever inflict.

Her body shook like the earthquakes that occasionally hit Nephalia shook the land. She felt as though her very bones would be shaken to dust before she was done. Blood leaked from her nose from the effort and the veins on her arms and face stood out like roads on a map. Tears of pain spilled from her eyes and her cry of agony faded into an inaudible grimace. She was dying. In a few more seconds, she would be all used up. She knew that for Harvey only a few moments had passed, though for her it had seemed like ages. Darkness began to close in around her vision and she felt a wave of exhaustion crash against her. It offered The Blessed Sleep, the gift she had given to thousands before her. Amara smiled and gave in to the darkness, embracing The Blessed Sleep.

  
____________  


She was back in her roost. All the others were empty and a brilliant light filled the aerie. It was as though Avacyn had brought a drop of the sun and sprinkled it around the room. Bruna waited for her, suspended in midair with her wings spread wide and welcoming, out by the exit.

“Come, Amara. You have served your duty well. It is time for me to carry you into the Blessed Sleep.” She beckoned.

All her life Amara had worked to ferry the souls of the dead to the Blessed Sleep. At last, that opportunity would be hers. Amara could rest forever now. Her model of the Cathedral! She could give it to Bruna now!

A single pulse pumped through her body as she recalled having finished it already. A wave of exhaustion hit her with pain that nearly knocked her off her feet. Bruna’s voice interjected before Amara had time to think about what had happened. “Come now, Amara. Avacyn is waiting outside. Together, we will guide you to The Blessed Sleep.”

Amara glanced at the exit of the aerie, remembering how many times she flown out of it. This would be her final time. A memory of her blasting out the aerie at a disrespectful speed pounded through her head. Her vision swam with pain she couldn’t ignore. She set a hand against the bed, waiting for the pain to subside.

“Is something wrong, Amara?” Bruna asked, concerned. “You seem unwell.”

“I am fine,” Amara responed. “I’m just having trouble dying-flying! I meant flying.”

Bruna tilted her wings and glided over. She was legitimately concerned. “Amara, you need help. Please. Let me carry you away to the Blessed Sleep. You deserve to rest.”

Her body shook like a bell stuck a too hard and she could feel every ounce of blood in her body force themselves through her veins. “I deserve…to smile?” Again, pain racked her core followed by a tidal of exhaustion that made her collapse on the bed.

“You deserve to rest.” Bruna replied, her beautiful face frowning. “Please come with me. I don’t want to see you suffer anymore.” She reached out and grasped Amara’s hand.

Amara’s body pulsed, eliciting a cry of pain. Memories of a handsome, neatly bearded man shaking her hand played across her mind. One word reached the forefront of her mind. “Harvey?” She felt like her heart ruptured from effort and her head nearly burst from pain. Blood began to trickle down her nose.

Bruna’s face changed, expressing her realization, and nodded solemnly. “Go, Amara. I see now why you have resisted so strongly. You have found that which only a handful of angels in history have ever experienced. Avacyn and I would be cruel to take that away from you.” Amara collapsed on her hands and knees as her vision blurred and her head swam. The pain was so intense, so consistent now, it was blurring all other thoughts and senses. Her heart pounded away, but with effort, as though a mountain rested on it.

Bruna went on as Amara collapsed on the floor and darkness filled her vision. “As angels, it is our mission to bring about happiness. You have succeeded, Amara.”

____________

“My angel…come back to me.” He whispered, cradling her limp body, tears running down his face into his beard. “Please. I…” He paused, searching for the right word. There was a word on his mind that he didn’t want to admit he wanted to say. After a brief moment, he sagged his shoulders and admitted. “I love you, dearest angel. Please come back to me.”

His heart fluttered for a moment, in tune with her eyelids. “My angel? Please. Fight it. I know you crave the Blessed Sleep. But…you can’t go. You’ve never experienced happiness.” His voice wavered, on the brink of sobbing. “You can’t leave without that.” A thought sprang to life in his mind, “My dearest angel. Listen to my prayer. Come back to me. Come back and experience happiness with me. This, I ask of you and of Avacyn. Please… come back to me.”

Amara took a gasping breath as her eyes opened, her hand reaching up and grasping his arm to prove to herself that she was alive. Now it was Harvey’s turn to be speechless.

She reached up a pale, delicate hand to his face and caressed his cheek. “That…” she weakly managed, “…is a prayer I can answer for you, Harvey.” And she smiled. Not a small smile, not a nervous or insecure smile…no. This one was genuine. It was real.

At last, he had heard her voice. For the first time in his life, he had heard her voice. She smiled up at him. A genuine, heartmelting, warm smile. He wanted to speak, to tell her how happy he was. But words were incapable of expressing the depths of emotions right now.

So he kissed her.

____________

Feelings and emotions she thought only humans were capable of rushed through her body and mind. She didn’t know where they came from, just that they were there. Whether a product of vestigial organs…or born of the love her human carried inside for her, Amara knew what it meant to be a woman. But far beyond that thought, deeper than any concept she had ever assigned to herself… she realized she was her own person. She more than just an angel. She was more than just a force of justice. She was something only a handful of angels had ever managed to become. Amara was a separate, autonomous, unique, and individual person.

For a brief second she broke away from him, gazing into his beautiful eyes. To make sure she had all of his attention. “I. Love. You.” No corrections. No justifications. Each word in that phrase now had meanings that she had never before comprehended. Until now. Amara pulled his face back down to hers and kissed him. She didn’t need the statue to tell her what he felt and she didn’t need the model to tell him how she felt. Amara had him in her hands now and could express those feeling in a way nothing else could match.


End file.
